


love is not a victory march

by sevensevan



Series: i'm sleeping better [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bank Robbery, F/F, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Sadness, Skimmons endgame, i don't even know guys i'm just sad and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-16 05:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: Daisy builds a home. Jemma finds her place in it.





	1. part one: genesis

**Author's Note:**

> listen i started this at three in the morning like a month ago and it shows. also this was gonna be like 5k words longer but i decided to be done so the ending isn't that good. it's happy tho and gay so like please validate me. title from hallelujah by leonard cohen.

_I don't have time to sabotage anything else_

_Got to do the right thing now_

_Got to find the right way out_

_—Amy Stroup - Sabotage_

 

Jemma starts wondering after the fifth bank.

At this point, Daisy has stolen nearly three hundred million dollars. Some of it is in bills, some of it is electronic (she hacked one of Ian Quinn’s offshore assets, one of the accounts that S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t been able to seize), most of it is in gold and various other valuable materials. She uses a different fence each time, and the money never shows up again. Neither does Daisy, until the next time she appears on a CCTV camera, blasting through the wall of another vault.

At first, they had all assumed Daisy was going after the Watchdogs. It made sense; the first bank she hit had held some of their funding, and there were tens, if not hundreds, of accounts by Inhumans of being hunted down by the group, only to be saved at the last minute by Quake. But Daisy keeps stealing, and no matter how hard Jemma looks, she can’t find a link between four random banks all across the country and the shadowy terrorist organization that’s hunting Inhumans.

All the while, the nation is divided on the subject of Quake. Inhumans are praising her, defending her. Whether the stories are true or not, she’s become a symbol of the Inhuman resistance to the Sokovia Accords. Extremist politicians are calling her a terrorist, and far too many people agree, terrified of Inhumans and their powers. S.H.I.E.L.D. puts together a task force after the fourth bank, because Director Mace can’t risk the entire nation despising them this early on. Jemma understands why he does it. She even understands why he refuses to put Coulson on it, no matter how much the ex-director begs him.

What she doesn’t understand is why _she_ gets assigned to it.

“You know her better than anyone,” Mace tells her when she asks. “You’re our best shot at figuring out why she’s doing this and where all that money is going.”

“Coulson knows her just as well as me,” she says, not really _arguing_ , just trying to point out the flaws in his logic. “Anyone on our team does.”

“Coulson cares about her,” Mace says. “He’ll never be able to see the situation for what it is. I trust you to be objective.”

_Objective_.

(Jemma remembers sitting in Daisy’s bunk on board the Bus, back when Daisy was Skye and everything was simpler. She remembers watching movies together and talking about _everything_ , from debates about the value or lack thereof of the Star Wars prequels to Skye telling her about her childhood, the way it had felt bouncing from one home to another, everything transient, to Jemma telling Skye about how she felt sometimes, like she had tricked everyone into believing she was smart and resourceful, when really she was just stumbling through life and hoping for the best, and how scared she was that someday she would make some irreparable mistake and everyone would know how naïve and stupid she really was. She remembers the way Skye had looked at her in the days after she got her powers, _terrified_ of what Jemma might say or do, terrified of _Jemma_. It had made Jemma ache right down to her soul, because she would _never_ hurt Skye, she was just trying to help, she was just _scared_. She remembers coming back from Maveth and learning that Skye had become Daisy while she was away, and it was more than a name change. Daisy is a completely different person, but Jemma learned to love her just as much.

Jemma remembers the giddy feeling in her chest she used to get every time she thought about Daisy. Now her chest fills up with dread every time someone says Daisy’s name, or her new name, _Quake_ , because every time it could be the last. It could be the message that the Watchdogs finally caught up with her, that _S.H.I.E.L.D._ caught up with her, that the careless way she’s been using her powers in the blurry cell phone videos and grainy CCTV footage Jemma has seen has finally shattered her bones inside her.)

“I can be objective, sir,” Jemma says, and thanks God that she isn’t strapped into the lie detector, because it’s the absolute furthest thing from the truth.

She’s never met anyone else on the task force before. There’s four of them in total: a quiet, thoughtful man named Roberts; Fournier, a French tech expert who Jemma overhears spouting extremist anti-Inhuman rhetoric on their first day as a team; a nineteen-year-old boy named Schmidt who’s fresh from the Academy with a slightly unhinged look, like he might snap at any moment, and Jemma herself.

Jemma likes Roberts; he’s quiet, respectful, even kind when he chooses to be, even if he always seems to be looking through her, like he can read her mind. Fournier makes her angry; she calls Daisy _it_ until Jemma snaps at her. Schmidt mostly just scares her. He doesn’t talk much; mostly, he sits in the corner of the room they sit in while Fournier combs the internet for anything to do with Daisy, flipping a switchblade through his fingers and watching Jemma and Roberts. It’s unnerving. Jemma isn’t sure how much of it is an act of rebellion, some persona cooked up to bother his parents or commanding officers. The look in his eyes, though, the bloodthirsty, mocking gaze, that’s not fake. It reminds Jemma of Ward, and it makes her shiver.

The fifth bank gets hit a month after the task force is formed. Fournier stands up from her computer with a gasp, drawing the attention of the other three occupants of the room.

“Quake is hitting a bank downtown,” she says.

“What, like, downtown _here_?” Schmidt asks, not even bothering to sit up. He’s lying down across three chairs, playing with his switchblade.

“Yes, downtown here, you—“ Fournier begins to snap.

“Let’s go, then,” Roberts interrupts. All three of them turn to look at him. “She’s our assignment. Fournier, call in a strike team. I’ll drive.” He doesn’t look at Fournier, even as he speaks to her. He looks at Jemma, his gaze as unnervingly knowing as always.

They pull up in front of the bank within ten minutes. Daisy is still inside. They pile out in a group, wrapped up in body armor. Schmidt brings an Uzi. Jemma doesn’t bother telling him that Daisy could stop his bullets in midair if she wanted to.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. strike force spreads out behind them, rushing civilians out of the bank and clearing hallways and offices as they go. It’s fruitless. Daisy is still somewhere behind the desk.

“Thirty million dollars in diamonds is kept in this bank,” Roberts informs them. “Let’s split up to search for her. Anyone sees her, call in backup immediately. Do not engage.” He aims the last sentence at Schmidt, who just grins ferally at him and hefts his Uzi.

Jemma takes the section farthest from the lobby, which, coincidentally, includes the bank vault itself. She walks through corridors of safe deposit boxes, heart pounding in her chest, until finally, she turns a corner, and there she is.

The vault door is blown open, practically off its hinges. Jemma notes the pattern of indentations on the metal and realizes that Daisy had used her powers to open it. She’s getting stronger. Daisy when Jemma knew her would never have been able to blow open three feet of solid steel.

Daisy is as beautiful as Jemma remembers her, if a little more wild looking. Her hair is shorter, messier. She’s dressed in black, and Jemma recognizes the fingerless gloves she’s wearing as the gauntlets Jemma had designed to protect her bones from the effects of her powers. She has a briefcase popped open in front of her, and she’s tossing diamonds pulled from it into a black backpack.

Slowly, Jemma takes out the pistol strapped to her hip and levels it at Daisy. The sound of the safety clicking off is what gets Daisy’s attention, and her eyes go wide when she sees who’s on the other end of the gun. Jemma gets her first clear look at Daisy’s face since she ran away seven months ago.

She looks…well, _good_. The dark circles that had gained what seemed to be permanent residence under her eyes in the days after Lincoln’s death are gone. The weight she had lost, leaving her gaunt and emaciated, is back, but now it seems to be solid muscle. The constant fear and anxiety that had haunted her eyes since San Juan is almost completely gone, although she does look a bit concerned that Jemma is holding a gun on her. Her shorter hair frames her face beautifully. She doesn’t have the beaten-down look she had gotten after her mother died in front of her. She looks fierce. Strong. Less like a traumatized soldier and more like a hero.

“Don’t move,” Jemma manages to say. Daisy slowly rises to her feet, leaving the backpack on the floor. She doesn’t raise her hands in surrender, but she doesn’t raise them to attack, either.

“Jemma,” Daisy says softly. “ _God_ , I…” She shakes her head. “Please just turn around and walk away.” She begins to take a step forward, but Jemma waves the gun a bit, stopping her.

“I said don’t move.”

“That’s not an ICER,” Daisy says quietly, gesturing at the gun.

“No,” Jemma says. “It isn’t.” She doesn’t say that she had argued with Mace for a good twenty minutes about what to arm their team with, had tried everything she could think of to convince him to order them to carry ICERs, had fought for the _shoot-on-sight_ order on Daisy to be rescinded. She doesn’t say any of it. It won’t change anything.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Daisy mumbles. Jemma isn’t even entirely sure she’s talking to her. “You weren’t supposed to…” She trails off, clenching her jaw.

“Please just come with me,” Jemma says quietly. She doesn’t want to say it. It’s ripped from her throat, a desperate, hopeless plea. She knows the minute she says it that Daisy will say no. “Please come home.”

“To _what_?” Daisy asks, shaking her head. “Come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.? I’ll get thrown in a cell, and if I don’t, I’ll get put on a leash. There’s nothing there for me anymore.”

“There’s _me_ ,” Jemma says, and it’s close as either of them have ever come to a confession. Daisy nods slowly.

“But there isn’t,” she says, matter-of-fact, but Jemma can see the resigned grief in her eyes. “Not really.” Jemma can’t argue with that. Fitz had asked her to move in with him two days ago. She had said yes, because she didn’t have a reason not to. _Not really_.

“What are you using the money for?” Jemma asks. Her gun is at her side by now, forgotten. She was never going to shoot Daisy. She could never. Daisy looks down at the backpack full of diamonds, and the strangest look crosses her face. It’s almost a smile, almost wistful, almost mournful, but undeniably full of hope.

“I’m building a home,” she says, and then she dives down, zipping up the backpack and tossing it on. She uses one hand to blast herself up off the ground, shooting towards the ceiling, while using the other to blow the roof apart. Jemma halfheartedly raises the gun again, but mostly she’s just watching with an open mouth. Daisy is beautiful like this, rising through the air like some kind of goddess, dust raining down around her but not touching her, the LA sunlight pouring in.

“What was that?” demands Fournier as she runs up beside Jemma several moments later, when Daisy is gone, leaving behind a hole in the ceiling and an empty briefcase. “Was she here? Did you see her?” Jemma stares up at the light, thinks of Daisy the way S.H.I.E.L.D. had found her years ago, long hair and innocence in the LA sun, mind full of dreams and impossible wishes and convinced that she could change the world. She thinks of how Daisy looks now, her hair shorter, her shoulders held high, proud and strong, eyes clear and determined and full of the knowledge that everything will bend before her; the universe itself will shift to accommodate her. This Daisy doesn’t just _want_ to change the world.

She _can_ , and she _will_ , and she _knows_ it.

“I saw her,” Jemma whispers, eyes not leaving the light streaming through the ceiling.

“What happened?” Jemma doesn’t answer. Fournier doesn’t get the chance to ask again. Roberts runs up behind them, stopping when he sees the hole in the ceiling.

“She’s gone,” he says. It isn’t a question. Jemma nods. He shakes his head, sighing. “Let’s get back to the van and regroup. Simmons, think of anywhere she might’ve gone.” Jemma nods numbly, following Roberts back to the van silently. She barely remembers to turn the safety on her gun back on and put it away.

“The diner,” Jemma says suddenly when they’re halfway back to base. Roberts glances at her in the rearview mirror. “There was a diner she used to live behind. Before she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. She might’ve gone there.”

“Where is it?” Fournier demands, twisting around in the passenger seat to glare at her. Jemma gives the address in a monotone. Roberts turns on the police siren installed in their van, whipping through a u-turn. They reach the diner in minutes, and Jemma is the first one out the door. She rushes into the diner, looking around frantically.

_There_. Daisy is sitting in a booth in the back. She seems like she’s waiting for someone, but when she sees Jemma walk in the door, her eyes go wide with fear. It makes Jemma’s heart shatter in her chest. She doesn’t want Daisy to look at her like that, ever again. She wants Daisy to see her and smile and feel the same burst of happiness in her chest that Jemma used to whenever she saw Daisy. _She_ wants to feel that happiness again.

Daisy jumps to her feet as the rest of the task force comes in behind Jemma. Her hands come up defensively, and it’s just in time, because Schmidt sees her and starts _laughing_. It’s a horrible sound, grating and angry.

“ _Die_ , Inhuman bitch!” he snarls, and opens fire with his Uzi. Roberts shouts for him to stop, but it’s too late. Bullets are flying through the crowded diner.

Not a single one hits Daisy. Jemma can’t see them, but she knows invisible shockwaves are pouring from her hands, curving the bullets away from her. The man behind the long counter goes down, red blossoming on his shoulder. Patrons are screaming, running.

“Stand _down_!” Roberts screams at Schmidt, and smashes his fist into the back of Schmidt’s head when he doesn’t listen. The gunfire stops, and Schmidt crumples to the floor, his Uzi falling beside him. Jemma’s ears are ringing. She looks across the diner, to where Daisy is standing, hands still up, panic on her face. Daisy looks over to where the man behind the counter is lying, blood pumping from his shoulder, and clenches her jaw viciously.Distantly, some analytical part of Jemma recognizes that an artery has been hit, that the man will more than likely bleed out. She wonders if Daisy knew the man. The way Daisy is looking at him makes it seem like she did.

Daisy turns back to face Jemma and her team. She looks at Roberts, who is already on the ground next to a woman who’s been hit in the leg, putting pressure on the wound and speaking to her calmly, trying to keep her still. She looks at Fournier, who is looking around the carnage of the diner with absolute horror on her face. She looks at Schmidt, who is pushing himself up off the ground, rubbing his head and squinting at the damage he’s caused. His face is guiltless, uncomprehending.

She doesn’t look at Jemma.

“You did this,” Daisy tells Schmidt, but it feels like she’s talking to all of them. “Is _this_ what makes you so much better than me? Than the Inhumans?” She seems like she’s about to say more, but instead, she shakes her head in disgust and turns away. She walks behind the counter and disappears into the kitchen. A few moments later, Jemma hears the sound of the back door closing.

None of them make a single move to stop her.

That night, Jemma goes home with blood under her fingernails from the shoulder of an innocent man who worked at a diner. The man dies despite her attempts to help him. Four people die in that diner. Seventeen others are injured. Schmidt is reassigned to guard duty at some S.H.I.E.L.D. base in the Arctic, will probably be there for the rest of his life.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. press release calls it a tragic accident. The media calls it a massacre.

Everyone already believes it was Daisy’s fault, that she forced them to open fire, that she curved the bullets at those innocent people. Politicians are already clamoring for stricter regulations, for the release of the list of known Inhumans to the public. A teenage boy is killed only hours later in Ohio, hunted down, not by the Watchdogs, but by his basketball teammates, who see him run just a little bit too fast to pull a stray dog out of traffic and decide that his kindness merits execution.

Fitz shows up at Jemma’s apartment with takeout Thai food and holds her while she cries, leads her into the bathroom and gently cleans the blood from her hands.

(“It wasn’t her fault,” Jemma says later, when Fitz has convinced her to eat and made her tea. “She didn’t do anything. It wasn’t her fault.” Fitz just pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head and whispers _I know_ over and over and over again. Jemma thinks sometimes that Fitz knows about her and Daisy, the _almost-maybe-someday_ that she and Daisy used to be, and she feels guilty about it, because he’s so good to her and she doesn’t want to hurt him. But she can’t help it, she never could; Daisy is inevitable and Fitz is her best friend, and she loves him, she loves him so much it hurts sometimes, but she’s not _in love_ with him, not the way she is with Daisy, not the way that makes the look on Daisy’s face before she walked out of the diner feel like an ICER bullet to the chest, leaving her numb all over.)

Mace doesn’t replace Schmidt. The room is even quieter now; the only sound is the sound of tapping keys as Fournier scours the internet. Roberts sits in the corner, eyes closed, breathing evenly. Jemma thinks he’s sleeping at first, until she realizes that his breathing stumbles slightly with each unfamiliar sound that echoes in the silent room. He’s guarding them. Jemma spends her time on her phone, scrolling through apartment listings, looking for somewhere for her and Fitz.

(She remembers what Daisy had said. _I’m building a home_. She isn’t sure Daisy meant it in a literal sense, but she thinks about it regardless. Wonders what Daisy’s home looks like, if it cost her three hundred and fifty million dollars. She doesn’t really care where it is or what it looks like; she just wishes she was there, too, instead of trapped in this room with the ghost of Schmidt and the people he had killed, the people Jemma had failed to save.)

They don’t find her again. Daisy is done stealing, it seems; whatever she’s doing with her money, she has enough. It’s as if she’s disappeared off the face of the Earth. Not a single security camera, cell phone photo, traffic camera, _nothing_ has seen her since she walked out of the diner.

And then Jemma finds an apartment that’s a little _too_ perfect. She barely believes it, but she books a visit anyway. It’s in an old building, in a nice neighborhood, well within their price range. In _LA_. It may as well be an act of God.

The door is cracked open when she gets there. Jemma’s hand goes to the gun on her hip. It’s not an ICER; it’s deadly. She hates the weight of it, hates the way it feels in her hands. She’s so, so _sick_ of being a soldier. She carries it regardless, though; she’s gotten used to the presence of death at her side.

“Hello?” she calls, stepping into the apartment cautiously. All the senses she’s developed through her time with S.H.I.E.L.D. are screaming at her, telling her she’s in danger. She walks in regardless, her fingers wrapping around her gun. The apartment looks empty, sunlight streaming in the window.

The door slams behind her. Jemma whips around, her gun coming up. It’s Daisy, leaning back against the door.

“Hey,” she says, trying for a grin, but her voice is pained. “Sorry about this. Didn’t know how else to find you.” She slides down the door, leaving a smear of blood behind.

“Daisy,” Jemma says, immediately holstering her gun. “What happened? Are you alright?” Daisy pushes herself to her feet, taking a few stumbling steps forward to the center of the room before she sits down on the floor hard.

“I’m good,” Daisy says. “Just a flesh wound,” she jokes, with some horrible approximation of a British accent. Jemma gives her a flat look, kneeling down beside her to examine her.

“Did you get _shot_?”

“Ran into some Watchdogs on the way here,” Daisy explains. “They weren’t fans.” She holds up a white box. “I brought a first aid kit.”

“A first aid—Daisy, this is a _bullet wound_.”

“I noticed.” Jemma stares at her. Daisy seems completely serious. With a shake of her head, Jemma takes the kit.

“Whoever took this bullet out did an awful job,” she comments as she cleans the wound.

“I don’t get an A for effort?”

“You haven’t been to a proper doctor yet?” Jemma supposes it makes sense if Daisy came straight here, but she thought she’d taught Daisy better than to pull a bullet out of her own shoulder.

“You’re hard to get an appointment with,” Daisy says, shrugging with her uninjured shoulder. “Besides, hospitals aren’t big on on bank robbing unregistered Inhumans.” Jemma doesn’t have a response to that.

“How’d you find me?” Jemma asks. Daisy doesn’t answer for a moment, and Jemma puts it together. “The apartment. You sent me that email. You’ve been tracking my search history.”

“You were always a sucker for a breakfast nook,” Daisy says, and Jemma shivers, remembering the conversation that led to _that_ particular discussion. They’d been talking about their futures, about life after S.H.I.E.L.D., about everything they wanted someday: kids, homes, regular jobs. The assumption they’d both made is that _someday_ would be with each other.

And now? Now Jemma is sitting on the floor of the apartment she booked for her and Fitz, and Daisy is sitting in front of her with a bullet wound in her shoulder and a spot on the FBI most wanted list, and all Jemma can think about is how much she wants Daisy to stay right here, to stay in this apartment with her. She can picture it without even trying; she has a thousand times before. Coming home to Daisy, or the other way around, and ordering takeout and watching reality TV while cuddling on the couch. Waking up together, Daisy making her _awful_ cups of tea and Jemma pretending to enjoy them because it’s a sweet gesture, going on dates on weekends and getting a cat and a car and a _real life_ together.

It’s a familiar fantasy. It was all Jemma thought about when she was at Hydra, all that kept her going, and again during those infinite hours of twilight she was alone for on Maveth, before she found Will. She tries not to think about it too much these days, though. It feels like betraying Fitz, because every time her mind strays to it, her chest hurts with how much she still wants it.

“You’ve also been searching for double vanity sinks,” Daisy says, drawing Jemma’s mind back to reality. She’s been stitching up Daisy’s wound on autopilot, but her hands pause for a second at her words. “I take it things are going well with Fitz.” Jemma’s hand jerks slightly, and the needle nicks an uninjured patch of Daisy’s skin. Daisy doesn’t react to it, and Jemma momentarily marvels at that before remembering that Daisy has been shot, beaten, and God knows what else in the past four years. Her pain tolerance is undoubtedly unreasonably high.

“He asked me to move in with him,” Jemma responds to Daisy’s comment, refocusing her attention on the bullet wound. “I didn’t have a reason to say no.” _Not really_.

“I’m happy for you, Jemma,” Daisy says, leaning her head back and staring up at the ceiling.

“No, you’re not,” Jemma says. It’s not angry or accusatory or tragic, it just is.

“This isn’t how I wanted things,” Daisy agrees. “Between us, or…any of it. But he’s a good guy. If you’re happy, then I’m glad.”

“But I’m not happy.” Daisy’s eyes close, and she rests her head forward against her knees. Jemma cuts the thread, putting the needle away.

“Why would you tell me that?” Daisy whispers. “I can’t change things. Not now. I’m sorry for what my choices have done to you, I am. But I’m not sorry I made them.”

“Just tell me _why._ ” Jemma’s emotional dam finally breaks, and everything she’s feeling—the fear, the pain, the confusion, the love, all of it—comes tumbling out in one pleading, begging sentence. “Give me _anything_ , Daisy. Why are you doing all this? The stealing, the running, the—the coming to _me_ for help!”

“I was coming here anyway,” Daisy says. Jemma stops her outburst to listen. “The apartment. It’s yours if you want it. I paid the first six months under your name. And it’s rent-controlled now, so…”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jemma murmurs. Daisy shrugs, tries for her cocky grin. It comes out empty, almost pained.

“It’s not like I don’t have the money,” she jokes.

“The money,” Jemma echoes as she wraps a bandage around Daisy’s shoulder and tapes it into place. “What are you doing with all of it?”

“Escaping,” Daisy says, turning around so she’s sitting facing Jemma.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s why I came here.” Daisy looks away, bites her lip, like she’s gathering the courage for something. “I came to say goodbye.” Jemma flinches like she’s been slapped. Daisy looks back up at her. “I’m not coming back, Jemma. This is it. Last stop.” Jemma shakes her head, not believing it, not _wanting_ to believe it. “Everything’s done. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back.”

“Where are you _going_?” Jemma asks. If Daisy was simply leaving Los Angeles, she wouldn’t be here. Jemma is sure of that. They’ve only seen each other twice, counting this meeting, since Daisy has been here. But there’s a sense of finality to Daisy’s words, like this is the _end_ of something. Not just a chapter, not just Daisy leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. for something new, or leaving LA for another city. The end of the _story_. Jemma just isn’t sure what that ending is.

“Home,” Daisy says, and the smile on her face is almost reverent.

“You said that at the bank, too,” Jemma remembers. “But what does that mean?”

“I can show you.” Jemma frowns, and Daisy winces. “Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t ask you that. It’s selfish and unreasonable and—“

“You aren’t coming back,” Jemma interrupts. Daisy shakes her head, not quite meeting Jemma’s eyes. “So when you ask me to go with you—that is what you’re asking me, right?” Daisy smiles, just a bit.

“Yeah,” she confirms softly, and her voice is so small and shy that all Jemma wants to is kiss her and say _yes_.

“You’re asking me to not come back, either,” Jemma finishes instead.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “That’s why I told myself I wouldn’t ask.” Jemma rubs at her eyes, suddenly exhausted.

“You shouldn’t have.” Daisy nods, biting her lip to keep from saying more.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. She begins to climb to her feet, but hesitates while still on her knees. She reaches out, gently placing one gauntleted hand on the back of Jemma’s head. She pulls her in, kissing her forehead so gently it makes Jemma’s stomach clench in agony. She rests her chin on Jemma’s head for a moment, embracing her. “I, um, I probably won’t see you again,” she begins. Jemma can feel the vibrations of Daisy’s words in her throat. She wraps her arms around Daisy, holding her as tight as she possibly can. Her hands are clutching at Daisy’s shirt desperately. Everything is ending too quickly, and she’s not ready to lose Daisy. Not like _this_.

“Look, Jemma, I…” Daisy swallows hard, and Jemma realizes she’s probably swallowing back tears. Jemma’s own eyes are dry. She’s too tired to cry, too tired of losing people and not getting a say in the matter. “I’m sorry for leaving you like this and I’m sorry I was never brave enough to kiss you and—and I’m sorry I fucked everything up so badly and I’m sorry for asking you to come with me and I’m sorry I’m selfish and a fuck up and I’m sorry I’m still keeping you from being happy.” It all comes out in one breath, raw and painful and low and full of unshed tears. Daisy kisses the top of Jemma’s head softly, so softly it could almost be a breath.

“Jemma, you should be happy, alright?” she continues, voice lower still. “You deserve to—to get out of S.H.I.E.L.D. when you’re ready and…I don’t know, cure cancer or something. You probably could if you tried. So—so you should stay in this apartment, ‘cause I know it has everything you wanted, and be with Fitz, and get married someday and have like five kids or something. Just…live. Be happy. _Please_.” Jemma is crying now, silent tears dripping down her face and onto Daisy’s skin.

“Give me some time,” Jemma says, muffled by her tears and Daisy’s skin.

“What?”

“Give me some time,” Jemma repeats, shifting back just enough to look Daisy in the eye. “To decide.” Daisy shakes her head.

“To decide what?”

“Whether or not I want to go with you.” Daisy inhales sharply.

“You would do that for me?” she whispers, her eyes wide, searching Jemma’s intensely. “You would leave everything behind? S.H.I.E.L.D., Fitz, _everything_?”

“I would do anything for you, Daisy,” Jemma says, and it’s the truth. Five years ago, Jemma wouldn’t have left S.H.I.E.L.D. for _anything_ , but for Daisy? She just might.

“ _God_ —“ Daisy shakes her head, reaching out for Jemma with both hands this time. One falls to Jemma’s hip, fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. The other slides around the back of her neck, pulling her forward into a kiss.

It’s the first time Jemma has ever been kissed by Daisy, and every time she had imagined it suddenly feels like a cheap imitation. Daisy’s fingertips are moving through her hair. Her lips are chapped and warm. She tastes like salt and iron and Jemma thinks her chest might explode from _feeling_.

“Sorry,” Daisy murmurs, pulling back suddenly. Jemma catches her hand, keeping it pressed against her cheek. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing to me,” Jemma whispers back. “Not for this.” Daisy exhales slowly, her shoulders relaxing.

“I can’t—I can’t stay,” she says quietly. “I’m…they need me.” She doesn’t say who, and Jemma doesn’t ask. She knows she won’t get an answer. “But…I can give you a week. I’m sorry, I wish I could give you more—“ Jemma cuts her off by leaning forward and kissing her again, shorter this time, less intense.

“I said stop apologizing.” Despite the gravity of the situation, Daisy smiles.

“Right,” she murmurs. “In a week, at three o’clock, go the alley I used to park my van in.”

“Near the diner,” Jemma says. Daisy flinches at the words. The diner is a bad memory for both of them, though Jemma imagines it’s worse for Daisy.

“Yeah, near the diner,” she echoes. “If you decide you want to go, be there. I’ll send someone for you.”

“A week,” Jemma says. “Three o’ clock in a week.” Daisy nods.

“Don’t be there for me,” she says. Jemma frowns at her, confused. “Be there for _you_. Be there because you want out of all this. Not because of me.”

“For me,” Jemma echoes. “Okay.” Daisy smiles and finally stands, offering Jemma a hand and pulling her to her feet as well.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I guess…I guess this it then.”

“For now.” Daisy lifts Jemma’s hand to her mouth, kissing her knuckles lightly.

“For now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will probably be updated very quickly because i have it all finished and just need to do some basic editing. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake; my fic requests are always open. thanks for reading. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed (hint: nice comments will probably make me update faster).


	2. part two: rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively known as the yo-yo/jemma brotp road trip au. because i would die for elena rodriguez okay. this one was written in one hundred word bursts in between episodes of daredevil so idk if it's even coherent. enjoy.

_And we will cry till this fire is drowned_

_And we will write all our memories down_

_And we will drive till these tires wear out_

_But darling I, I will take you home_

_—Ed Sheeran - I Will Take You Home_

 

Jemma spends four days thinking about it. She’s just delaying the inevitable, though. The moment Daisy asked her to go, she knew her answer.

On the fifth day, she breaks up with Fitz.

It’s awful and messy and he begs her for an explanation that she can’t give. He’s crying harder than she’s ever seen, and she’s still talking through her own tears, trying to make this hurt less for him.

It ends with Fitz walking out the door, carrying a bag of the clothes he had left at her apartment, and Jemma clutching at the edge of the kitchen countertop and crying so hard she thinks her heart might stop.

(Right now, she wishes more than ever before that she could call Daisy. Daisy would know what to say to make this stop hurting.)

The sixth day, she goes into work and sits in a room with Fournier and Roberts, and she isn’t on her phone this time because she has nothing to look at. She and Fitz are over; she doesn’t need to look at apartments anymore. She doesn’t know where she’ll be in two days or who she’ll be with, and she doesn’t know what will happen with Daisy because right now she feels so throughly broken and she doesn’t know if even Daisy can put her back together.

Roberts takes her outside the room while Fournier types fruitlessly. He leads her silently down a complicated route of hallways. Jemma follows without protesting. She doesn’t know where they’re going, nor does she particularly care. She trusts Roberts.

“You’re leaving,” Roberts says without preamble after they’ve stopped about ten meters down an empty, poorly lit hallway. Jemma blinks at him.

“What?”

“You’re leaving,” he repeats. “With Daisy.” Jemma takes a step back, her back brushing the wall behind her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but she wouldn’t believe her own words. Her voice is unsteady, uncertain, and her eyes are wide with fear.

“It’s okay,” Roberts says quickly. “There aren’t any cameras or microphones here.” He glances either way down the hall and steps closer to Jemma. “I’m Inhuman,” he whispers, and suddenly a lot of things make sense to Jemma.

“You’re…” Jemma leans back against the wall. “What’s your power?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Roberts says. He’s still glancing around nervously, which Jemma supposes is understandable; S.H.I.E.L.D. has only gotten more aggressive in its treatment of Inhumans since the shooting in the diner. There’s videos all over the internet of children, teenagers being dragged from their families while their parents are handcuffed and forcibly tested for the gene. The country is split on the issue; a few notable activists (humans; the only Inhumans who spoke up for their rights disappeared shortly afterward) are fighting for equal treatment of Inhumans, but the vast majority are complying with the institution of more and more stringent measures that are justified as being “for national security”. Whether their compliance is out of fear or genuine belief in the _Inhuman threat_ , as the media has dubbed it, is anyone’s guess.

“I can feel things,” Roberts explains. “Emotions, mostly. I know how people feel when I look at them.”

“Like some form of emotional telepathy?” Jemma asks, her scientist brain jumping on the idea, already constructing tests to determine the exact nature of his powers. She forcibly shuts that part of her brain off. Roberts’ powers aren’t the immediate issue; his knowledge of Jemma’s contact with Daisy is.

“Close enough,” Roberts says. “When I found you in the bank…” He shakes his head. “There were signs, before that, that your relationship with Agent Johnson was more than it appeared.” That’s another thing Jemma likes about Roberts: he calls Daisy by her name, not _Quake_ , like the media has branded her, the name they speak in the same sentences as _terrorist_ and _murderer_. More than that, he calls her _Agent_ Johnson, despite the fact that she broke away from S.H.I.E.L.D. months ago. “But what I felt coming off you in the bank…that was something unbelievable.”

“And that made you think I’m leaving?” Jemma asks. Roberts shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “But the traces of her blood I found in an apartment you visited did.” A chill of fear shoots down Jemma’s spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says flatly, her voice carefully modulated.

“Mace doesn’t trust you, Simmons,” Roberts says. He glances up and down the hallway once more. “He’s had someone tailing you since Agent Johnson’s first bank robbery. He’s sure you’re in contact with her.” Jemma’s mouth goes dry. She’s so unbelievably _close_ to getting out of here, out of S.H.I.E.L.D., getting to Daisy and the home she’s built and everything that might be between them. She can’t get caught now. She _can’t_.

“So you’ve been following me this whole time?” Jemma demands.

“Not just me,” Roberts says. “But you’re lucky it was me when you went to that apartment. I cleaned it up for you, left it out of my report.” Jemma’s shoulders relax.

“Why would you do that for me?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t just feel emotions,” Roberts says. “That’s most of it, but I also feel intentions, regrets. I can look at someone and know if I can trust them. And all of these things leave traces. Like scents that a dog can pick up.” Jemma’s mind jumps to pheromones of some kind, although there’s nothing she knows of that would produce a detectable substance that codes for emotion.

(Then again, she’s also unaware of an organ that would allow someone to manipulate the vibrations of the world around them. _Alien DNA_ will have to be enough of an answer. For now.)

“I sensed Agent Johnson at the bank,” Roberts says. “And again, in that apartment. Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing it to help people. Her blood was all over the apartment, and not a drop of it was ill-intentioned. Angry, yes, but there was _nothing_ that indicated she _wanted_ to do any of this. I may not agree with her methods, and I don’t know what she’s doing with that money, but whatever it is, it will be something good.”

“And that’s why you lied,” Jemma says. “That’s why you covered this up.” Roberts nods. “Then why did you pull me out here? Why tell me all of this?”

“Because Mace is suspicious,” he says. “I don’t know why, but I can feel it. I spoke to him yesterday, and he didn’t believe a word I said. Wherever you’re going, you need to go as soon as you can.”

“I will,” Jemma says. Roberts nods and steps back. Jemma moves away from the wall, but before they leave the unmonitored hallway, she catches his arm. “Roberts,” she says. “Thank you.” He nods silently, and they take different routes back to the silent room, returning to their opposite sides as Fournier taps away on her keyboard.

On the seventh day, Jemma goes to the alley behind the diner. She arrives two minutes and thirty-six seconds early, and she swears those moments are the longest of her life. She makes as if to leave twice, but can’t follow through with it. Here, there is innocent blood on the walls of a diner, and the phantom sound of Schmidt’s switchblade playing over Fournier’s typing, and the ghost of Fitz every time she opens her apartment door, and the way May looks at her pityingly whenever she passes the training area, and none of it, _none of it_ , is worth staying for.

There, somewhere, there is Daisy. And even if Fitz could still look her in the eye, even if the diner’s walls were clean, even if there were no ghosts behind her eyes, she would still go. Because she is here, and Daisy is not, and that is not the way the world is supposed to be.

“Simmons,” a voice says quietly from down the alley. Jemma turns, and honestly, she shouldn’t be this surprised.

It’s Elena Rodriguez. S.H.I.E.L.D. had lost contact with her after they instituted an Inhuman tracking policy even more stringent than its predecessor: instead of bracelets, S.H.I.E.L.D.-registered Inhumans are required to receive tracking implants. That had been the final straw for Elena. Jemma had been glad that Mack had walked away from S.H.I.E.L.D. a few weeks prior to the policy and neatly avoided being put on a task force like Jemma’s. While finding Elena is much lower priority than finding Daisy, all known untracked Inhumans are being hunted.

“Yo-Yo,” Jemma says. Elena smiles and steps forward, pulling Jemma into a hug. Jemma returns it tightly. They may not have been the closest of friends before S.H.I.E.L.D. went down the path it’s now on, but they were teammates, and that means that they respected and, above all, _cared_ about each other. And it’s been months, and Elena’s been _hunted_. A hug seems to be in order.

“I didn’t know whether or not to expect you,” Elena says when they separate. “Daisy didn’t think you would come.”

“She didn’t?” Jemma asks. Maybe she’s misread this whole situation. Maybe Daisy doesn’t want her to go. Maybe she changed her mind since that day in the apartment.

Elena is smiling at her, some mixture of amusement and fondness.

“She looks stronger now,” Elena says. “And she is, but Daisy will always be scared to lose you.”

“Well, she’s not going to,” Jemma says firmly. Elena smiles widely.

“Let’s go, then,” she says. “We have a long way to go. I want to drive at least four hours today.”

“Four _hours_?” Jemma asks as they walk towards the other end of the alley. “Where are we going?” Elena glances over at Jemma, a peaceful look in her eyes.

“Home,” she says. They stop in front of a nondescript, dark grey car, and Elena slides into the driver’s side.

“People keep saying that,” Jemma says, climbing into the passenger seat. “I still don’t know what it means.”

“Well, you’ll find out in about nine hundred miles,” Elena tells her as they pull away from the curb. “It’s better than anything you could dream of. I promise.”

“If Daisy’s there, that’s already true,” Jemma says, and proceeds to turn bright red. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Elena glances over at her, laughing slightly.

“I always knew there was _something_ between you two,” she says, rolling her window down enough to send a breeze through the stuffy air in the car. “I didn’t look for it, but I didn’t have to.”

“Everybody knew, I think,” Jemma says, lowering her own window a bit and enjoying the wind through her hair. “Fitz was good at pretending he didn’t, but the way he looked at us when Daisy visited the lab…even back when it was just the old team on the Bus, she would come downstairs to work and we would end up talking and he would get this look on his face, like we were breaking his heart. And after we started dating…Fitz would never try to control me or keep me away from her, and he loves Daisy, really, but that look never went away.”

“Why were you with him?” Elena asks. “If you knew how you felt for Daisy.”

“Because he’s my best friend,” Jemma answers. “And I love him. I do. Daisy…I assumed I had all the time in the world to find my way to her. I think realizing I was wrong about that was the worst moment of my life.”

“I don’t think you were wrong,” Elena says, changing lanes, moving closer to the center of the interstate, where traffic is moving faster. “Things are not the way you expected or wanted, but Daisy will wait forever for you. That hasn’t changed.” Jemma nods, not sure if she believes that.

“And what about you?” she asks, changing the subject. “Mack left S.H.I.E.L.D. Is he wherever we’re going?” Elena grips the wheel a bit tighter.

“No,” she says. “I don’t know where he is, but I don’t think he would want to be where we’re going anyway. It’s different for you. Daisy is your entire world. Mack and I were never that way, not even close.” Jemma wants to say something, be sympathetic, but she doesn’t think any of her words would make Elena feel better. “It’s better this way,” Elena says after a moment, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself as much as Jemma. “He would not like it there.”

“Are you going to tell me _anything_ about this place we’re going?” Jemma asks, glancing over at Elena. Elena smiles.

“And ruin the surprise?”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Daisy,” Jemma grumbles, making Elena laugh. There’s a comfortable silence in the car for a few minutes, and Elena turns on the radio, flipping through channels until she finds one playing nineties punk rock. It’s…certainly not anything Jemma would listen to in any other context, but she supposes it’s the driver’s choice. It’s quiet enough that her eyes begin to drift shut, despite the hoarse yelling coming from the speakers.

“I’m glad you’re coming, Simmons,” Elena says finally. Jemma jolts out of her half-asleep state. “It will be good for Daisy, having you there.”

“I didn’t do it for her,” Jemma says, and is shocked to realize she means it. “I mean, it was for her, but not… _for her_.”

“You know, English isn’t my first language, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t have made any sense in Spanish, either.”

“It’s just…” Jemma makes a noise of frustration. “She told me not to go for her, and I’m not. I’m going because she’s there, but not because I want to make her happy. Because she’ll make _me_ happy. So it’s for her, but not…”

“ _For her_ ,” Elena completes. “I understand.” She glances over at Jemma, who is rubbing at her eyes tiredly and suppressing a yawn. “Get some rest,” she says gently. “We have a long way to go.”

(Jemma dreams about Daisy, about a day onboard the Bus before Ward, before Jiaying and the ground shaking beneath them, before Maveth and before Fitz and Hive and Lincoln and _Quake_. She dreams about an afternoon wasted away in Skye’s bunk, watching pirated movies on her laptop and talking about nothing. She looks at Skye and wants to kiss her more than she’s ever wanted anything before, and Skye is looking at her the same way. And then there’s an explosion on the laptop screen and the moment is broken, and _maybe_ becomes _almost_.)

Jemma wakes up when the quiet, distorted guitar from the radio stops and the constant sound of the car engine fades. She blinks, uncomprehending. The sky is dark outside her window, and there’s more stars than she’s seen since she moved to LA. It reminds her of nights on the Bus over the ocean, how she could look out the window and see the Milky Way in the sky. Only now, she’s very firmly on the ground, and the stars are the backdrop to a neon sign high above.

“Where are we?” she asks Elena, her voice rough from sleep.

“Amado, Arizona,” Elena says, pulling her keys out and sliding them into the pocket of her jacket.

“Never heard of it,” Jemma mumbles, making Elena laugh.

“It has a population of under three hundred,” she explains.

“That’d explain it.” Jemma climbs out of the car, glancing around. There are mountains in one direction, a desert in another, and the highway, stretching off in either direction, straight and flat for what seems like forever. The stars are burning brighter than she’s ever seen, and the neon sign above her is humming loudly. They’re parked in front of a rundown motel, the type of place Jemma has only seen in horror movies. All in all, the scene is rather surreal.

Jemma’s stomach growls loudly.

“There’s a diner about a mile up the road,” Elena says with a grin. “It’s almost midnight. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you earlier, but you looked like you needed the sleep.”

“I did,” Jemma admits. She hasn’t slept well with the weight of her impending life-changing decision on her chest. The choice is out of her hands now, though, and suddenly she can breathe again.

“We can go there after we check in,” Elena says, gesturing at the motel in front of them. “I haven’t eaten either, and we have a long way to go tomorrow.”

The man at the front desk looks positively ancient. He eyes them suspiciously throughout the transaction. Jemma isn’t sure if it’s because they’re both women, or because of Elena.

Elena takes the key to the motel room and they drive back up the road. The radio is on a soft rock station now, the quiet picking of guitar strings filling the car. Jemma gazes out the window at the endless starlit desert, only broken by the occasional crumbling building. She feels like, at any moment, she’ll wake up in her empty apartment, and the stars will just be the lights of cars passing by on the street, and the presence of Elena in the driver’s seat will just be the framed photo on her nightstand, the one of the whole team, taken a few weeks after her return from Maveth, before Hive, before Lincoln, before everything fell apart.

But they park in front of the diner, and the food is mediocre and greasy but filling, and Elena smiles at her from across the table, and the dream doesn’t end.

Jemma wakes up the next morning to the sound of the shower in the next room, and she stars at the peeling paint on the hotel ceiling and thinks that maybe she can make this work. Maybe she can find a way to be whole again, wherever they’re going. Maybe she can fill the hole inside her with the stars and the sun and the sand and Daisy. Maybe she’ll be happy, the way she hasn’t been since the emptiness in Daisy’s eyes started reflecting the hollowness in her own.

The drive is as long as the day before, and just as peaceful. Jemma picks the radio station this time, and she chooses the soft rock one that had been playing the night before. They stop at a gas station fifty miles after the New Mexico border, buying bottled iced coffees and bad pretzels as their tank fills. Jemma almost asks Elena where she’s getting the money for all this when she’s been hunted for the past few months, before remembering the millions Daisy had stolen.

They pull off the highway thirty miles past Roswell. The town is filled with fog so thick that Jemma can barely see the taillights of the car ahead. They turn onto a dirt road, one that seems like less of a road and more of a footpath. Eventually, they stop, out of sight of the highway, surrounded by nothing but fog and dirt and tumbleweed. Elena climbs out of the car, and Jemma follows suit, eyes narrowed.

“What exactly are we doing here?” she asks Elena. “And where is here?” Elena smiles and doesn’t answer. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, dialing a number.

“It’s me,” she says. “I’m here with Simmons.” Pause. “Yes, she came.” Another pause. “And she’ll be happy sooner if you let us in already.” She hangs up and looks over at Jemma. “This will not feel good.”

“What—“

The world shakes around Jemma. She drops to one knee, clutching at her skull, where it feels as if a thousand bees are rattling around in her skull. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and her stomach twists violently in protest. She thinks her nose is bleeding, thick red liquid dripping into her mouth and down the back of her throat.

Then, suddenly, it stops.

“Sorry,” Elena says. Jemma looks up, and a hand is thrust into her vision, Elena offering to help her up. “It is worst the first time.”

“What _was_ that?” Jemma demands, taking the hand and wiping blood from her face with another.

“That was Thomas,” Elena answers cryptically. She pulls out a pack of tissues and offers it to Jemma, who accepts it gratefully.

“Who’s Thomas?” Elena smiles.

“Look behind you.” Jemma frowns, but wipes her nose one last time and obeys. For a moment, she isn’t sure what she’s seeing, and then it takes her breath away.

Behind her is an entire _town_. It’s mostly enclosed by a metal wall, but the gate is directly in front of her, and it’s several hundred feet wide. Through it, Jemma can see buildings; houses, little shops, what appears to be a church. There are people, too, of every imaginable appearance: old, young, of every race, dressed a hundred different ways. Jemma searches for a question, for anything to say. She comes up with nothing, and instead turns back to stare, open-mouthed, speechless, at Elena.

“Welcome to Rebirth, New Mexico,” Elena says. “Come on. Daisy will want to see you.” She takes Jemma’s arm and walks them towards the town. Jemma allows herself to be led, her head turning wildly, trying to take in everything around her, all the incredible sights. They pass what appears to be a bakery, and Jemma catches a glimpse through the window of an older man behind the counter, talking and smiling at two teenage girls who are eyeing the pastries in the display case. They look at each other as Jemma passes, and she starts whens she sees that not only are they twins, but both of their eyes are completely silver, whites and all. They pass a twenty-something Latino man who smiles at Elena and says something in Spanish. She says something back, and he laughs, fire slipping out on his breath with the sound. Neither the man nor Elena seems surprised by it, but Jemma stares.

“He’s Inhuman,” Jemma says quietly to Elena as the man walks away, continuing down the street. “Everyone here is.”

“Not everyone,” Elena says. “Some brought their families. Children, spouses, parents. There are about six thousand of us here. Five hundred or so are human.”

“This is the home that Daisy was talking about,” Jemma realizes. “She built a home. Not just for her, but for the Inhumans. All of them.” Elena smiles at her and nods in confirmation. “This…this is _amazing_.”

“It is,” Elena agrees, and they turn right, into a sort of courtyard or square; a large, open space between the buildings, where all the roads converge. It feels like the center of town; there are stalls and shops lining it, and a few dozen people walking around. A fountain stands in the middle; abstract sculpture, all curves and lines, with water sliding down it in a steady stream. The space is big enough to easily fit a few hundred people. A short, heavyset black man waves at them from across the square. “ _That_ ,” Elena says. “Is Thomas. He’s the one that made all of this possible.”

“He hides the town,” Jemma says. “I couldn’t see it until he did…whatever that was to me. That’s _incredible_. How does it work? Is it some sort of cloaking mechanism? Can he—“

“You’re the scientist,” Elena interrupts. “Don’t ask me.” She stops in front of the largest building on the square. It’s very southwestern, with a white facade and an orange roof. There’s no sign or marking of any sort, beyond the address beside the door. “Daisy’s in there,” Elena tells Jemma. “Straight to the back, door on the left.” Jemma swallows hard, suddenly unreasonably nervous. She’s left _everything_ , travelled across the country for this, because Daisy asked her to. And now her hands are shaking, and her mouth still tastes like blood, and she’s not sure she can walk into that building. “Simmons,” Elena says, setting her hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “She loves you. It will be okay.” Jemma manages a half-smile and a nod. “Go,” Elena encourages, pushing Jemma forward lightly. “Go get the girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it! next chapter will probs be up tuesday or wednesday. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake; my fic requests are always open. leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed.


	3. part three: beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the nice comments, everyone. i'm glad someone is having fun reading this; it was kind of a pain in the ass to write but the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone till i got it out. enjoy.

_So tell me what you think_

_When you see me there_

_And tell me what you see_

_When the smoke is clear_

_—Jack’s Mannequin - Platform Fire_

 

Jemma steps over the threshold of the building and into what feels like an office. There are two desks in the front room, set up with computers and stacks of papers, but no one sits behind them. Jemma glances around, walking through the room and towards the hallway at the back. The lights above her buzz in their sockets. She walks down the hall with sweaty palms and shaky hands.

The office on the left is small. The windows are shuttered, but the blinds are turned so Jemma can see through them. Daisy sits behind a desk in the room, in a plaid shirt like the ones she used to wear before her wardrobe changed to skintight combat suits. She’s leaning back in an office chair, reading a paper of some sort. She’s completely off guard, relaxed, her gauntlets on the table in front of her. Unarmed, unprepared. _She feels safe_ , Jemma realizes, and the thought allows the tension to slip out of her shoulders.

She opens the door quietly, stepping into the office. Daisy holds a finger up in a _wait a moment_ gesture and stares at the paper for a moment longer before she tosses it down onto her desk. Finally, her eyes find Jemma standing in the doorway, and she smiles, shy and small and so unbelievably _happy_ that it makes Jemma’s chest hurt. The sheer, unadulterated joy in her eyes is something that Jemma hasn’t seen on her in a long time. Too long.

“You came,” Daisy half-whispers, standing up and stepping around her desk.

“Of course,” Jemma says, just as softly. “Of course.” They stare at each other for a few moments, Daisy drinking in her presence and Jemma barely able to breathe, let alone move, with Daisy standing only a few feet away from her.

Then Daisy steps forward and pulls Jemma into a hug, holding her so tightly it’s almost painful. Jemma doesn’t complain; she’s gripping Daisy just as tightly. Suddenly they’re both crying; Daisy is gritting her teeth and doing her best to mute her harsh sobs into Jemma’s neck, and Jemma crying silently, her head leaning against Daisy’s.

Jemma isn’t sure how long they stand there, wrapped up in each other, crying and savoring each other’s presence. After everything they’ve been through, after everything Jemma has given up, they’re here, with each other, and that makes it all more than worth it.

“I didn’t think you would come,” Daisy says finally, pulling back just enough to look Jemma in the eye. All the layers of pain and anger and the walls Jemma has watched Daisy build over the years without being able to a damn _thing_ to stop it are gone, like they were never there in the first place. Jemma looks into Daisy’s eyes and sees truths and promises and love, and she’s sure Daisy sees the same in her.

“You’re here,” Jemma says simply. “Nothing is going to make me as happy as being wherever you are.” Daisy smiles, and for a second, Jemma almost thinks she’s about to be kissed. Then Daisy steps away, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“So what do you think of Rebirth?” she asks abruptly. Jemma takes the subject change in stride.

“It’s _incredible_ , Daisy,” she says, shaking her head. “How did you even _do_ this?” Daisy smiles and shakes her head.

“It wasn’t just me,” she says dismissively. “I funded it, planned it, started it, but that’s all. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find enough Inhumans that were also construction workers to build an entire town, but after I did, I let them do all the work. And Thomas hid it, so that made everything a lot easier.”

“Speaking of Thomas,” Jemma interjects. “We’ll talk about you being unreasonably modest later, but his powers, how do they work?” Daisy shrugs.

“Well, that’s kinda why you’re here,” she says. Jemma frowns at her, confused. Daisy steps past her, gesturing for Jemma to follow. “I invited you because I wanted you here with me, but the more I thought about it, I realized something.” They step out the front door into the square once more. They cross diagonally to a nondescript building on the other side from the office building. A few people nod and smile or wave at Daisy, and she greets each one by name with a smile and a polite yet personal question. It’s like a politician working an audience, only Daisy openly and genuinely _cares_ about every single person who stops them. There’s warmth in her voice and her smile that can’t be faked.

“We have a few doctors,” Daisy says to Jemma as they step into the building. “And a few scientists, but no one on your level. I mean, no one is anywhere _close_ to your level, here or anywhere else.” Jemma blushes. They turn a corner and reach a set of sliding glass doors. Daisy hits a light switch, and the lights come on in the room behind the doors. Jemma’s jaw drops when she sees what’s on the other side. “So I built you a lab.”

And what a lab it is. Jemma can’t see clearly from here, but all the equipment appears to be brand new. The lights are bright, reflecting off the polished steel of the countertops. There’s microscopes, a centrifuge, computers, everything Jemma could ever want in a lab. And…

“It’s mine?” Jemma asks Daisy, unable to pull her eyes away. “All of it?”

“All of it,” Daisy confirms. “It’s not actually done yet, but I had this couple that worked in a lab before coming here make it look nice.” Jemma shakes her head.

“You’re doing too much for me,” she says quietly.

“Better get used to it,” Daisy says with a grin. “Besides, this isn’t totally for you. Someone has to figure out how all this works. The powers and the DNA and all that. So if you’re up to it…”

“You want me to study Inhumans?” Jemma asks, finally turning to face Daisy. Daisy shrugs.

“I trust you,” she says simply.

(Jemma thinks about when Daisy first got her powers, when Jemma was convinced the powers were a plague, a curse, a bringer of death and nothing else. When Jemma spent all of her time in a lab like the one in front of her, trying desperately to find a way to “cure” Daisy, to take away the powers that are a part of her, are her birthright. She thinks about the way Daisy had looked at her with shadowy, terrified eyes, scared of Jemma and what she might do, what she was trying to do.

They’ve come unbelievably far.)

“I would be honored,” Jemma says honestly. Daisy smiles.

“Good,” she says quietly. “I’m glad.” They stand in silence for a moment, not quite tense but there’s _something_ in the air between them. Then Daisy turns away, back towards the way out of the building. “Come on,” she says. “I’ll show you around town. There’s _so_ much you haven’t seen yet.”

They spend what’s left of the afternoon wandering the streets of Rebirth. Jemma can’t even begin to absorb it all. There’s shops, a few restaurants, houses full of people. She sees a man with pointed teeth who smiles at Daisy and waves with a hand that ends in claws instead of fingertips. A woman passes them, carrying a baby on her hip, and there are bat-like wings extending from her back. Jemma catches a glance of the two teenage girls from the bakery, laughing as they run past on the other side of the street.

The streets aren’t divided into sidewalks. There are no cars in Rebirth. She sees a few bikes, skateboards, and even a boy on rollerblades, but the streets, while paved, seem to be designed for foot traffic.

Daisy shows her a shop where a group of middle-aged people are sewing and cutting fabric, patching old clothes and creating new ones. There’s a bookstore, a library, six coffee shops, even a school. There’s a _garden_ , where people are watering, weeding, and harvesting vegetables. A barefoot girl in an oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts walks through the rows, her skin a rich green, and the vegetables grow visibly in her wake.

“That’s Erica,” Daisy tells Jemma. “We’re not completely self-sufficient yet, but we’re a lot closer, thanks to her. We still have to send people into Roswell to buy fabrics and clothes and raw materials and stuff like that, but the food cost gets lower every week.”

“Why New Mexico?” Jemma asks, watching Erica walk down a row of tomatoes, turning them from green to red in seconds.

“There’s nothing else out here,” Daisy says. “I picked the location before I found Thomas. I was worried about being able to hide.” She grins. “Besides, the irony is great. Everyone thinks there’s aliens here, and now there’s a whole town of us.” Jemma shakes her head, but can’t stop her smile.

“Elena said there are six thousand?” she asks. Daisy shrugs.

“Give or take,” she says. “Every Inhuman I know of is here, along with every Inhuman they know, except a few that left to go find more. We’re going to have problems in a few years if the population keeps growing the way it has been. Hopefully someone will show up and be, like, a metalbender or the friggin’ Hulk or something, and we’ll be able to just pick up the walls and move them.”

“So you’re bringing more in?” Jemma asks.

“Of course,” Daisy says like it’s obvious. “I want to give every Inhuman a home. I mean, the longterm goal is to be able to leave safely and live out there without hiding, but if we’re being realistic, that might never happen. So we keep each other safe. Some people have chosen to go back out there to find recently changed Inhumans and bring them here, but I’m never going to force _anyone_ to leave. We even have a jail, if we need it. We haven’t yet, but if it comes down to it, we’re not exiling anyone. Prison here is better than being hunted out there.”

“The ones who have chosen to leave,” Jemma says. “Is a man named Roberts one of them?” Daisy frowns and shakes her head.

“I don’t know who that is,” she says. “We have a Roberts family, but they’re all here. Why? Is he an Inhuman?” Jemma nods.

“He works for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she explains. “He was on the task force looking for you. He’s a good man.”

“I can send someone for him,” Daisy says.

“I think you should,” Jemma says, thinking about the rumors she had heard about DNA testing being randomly administered to agents.

“I’ll send someone out tomorrow,” Daisy promises. She pulls her phone out to check the time. “Come on,” she says, putting it away. “I have something else to show you.” She takes Jemma’s hand, seemingly without thinking, leading her away from the garden and back towards the center of town. Jemma doesn’t protest, holding Daisy’s hand gently, hesitantly, scared that if she moves too sharply, Daisy will pull away, and Jemma would do just about anything right now if it meant Daisy would keep holding her hand.

They head back towards the square. The sun is beginning to set now (Jemma had completely lost track of time; she’s been wandering around with Daisy for five or six hours), and the shops they pass are closing for the night. People they pass in the streets are mostly walking the same direction, towards the center of town. Lights that Jemma hadn’t noticed before hang from the front of each building, soft, warm, yellow light filling the streets, not so harsh that the stars above aren’t visible.

When they walk into the square, Jemma gasps. The fountain is lit up, lights beneath the water changing colors, turning the water every imaginable shade. Many of the stalls around the square are closed for the night, but the food vendors are still open. People are gathering around the end of the square, where a low stage has been set up since the last time Daisy and Jemma had been there. A teenage boy is setting up some kind of sound system at the back of the stage. The crowd is loud, people talking and laughing. Jemma hears at least four different languages as she and Daisy buy food from a vendor and make their way to the front.

The Latino man Elena had spoken with earlier is sitting on the edge of the stage, leaning over another man, grinning at him and talking quietly. Some sort of signal must go off, because the crowd begins to quiet and settle in place, and the men kiss briefly before the one Jemma had seen earlier climbs to his feet and jogs across the stage, taking his place a bit off-center and towards the back. The crowd finally quiets completely, and the teenager at the sound system hits a button.

Electronic music blasts out from speakers hidden somewhere near the stage. The man on stage steps forward with the beat, turning smoothly, lifting one arm from his side and leading his movement with it. Fire pours from his fingertips into a long, broad, thick arc, and as he completes the half-turn, it flies out over the crowd before disappearing into nothing twenty or so feet before the buildings at the other end of the square.

Jemma feels the heat of it as it passes above her. Her face flushed, she turns to Daisy and smiles wider than she has in months.

“Keep watching,” Daisy shouts to her over the roar of the crowd as they erupt in raucous cheers at the display. “It gets even better.”

 

XxX

 

“That was _incredible_ ,” Jemma says enthusiastically as they walk along the empty, dark streets of Rebirth. Daisy grins at her.

“It was,” she agrees. “We have events every other Friday, but that was definitely one of the best. We also have a pretty good jazz band and a few bearable rock bands.”

“This is amazing,” Jemma says. “All of it. Rebirth. It’s unbelievable. It’s—you’ve built an entire world here, Daisy. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

“I already told you,” Daisy says. “It wasn’t just me. The garden, the events, the shops, the school, none of that was me. This is _their_ home. I built it, but it’s theirs.”

Jemma wants to kiss Daisy now more than she maybe ever has.

“Here we are,” Daisy says, stopping, and the moment passes. They’ve stopped in front of a small, two-story house, nondescript and humble. “I, um, I didn’t know where you wanted to stay so I didn't pick out a house for you. I figured you could stay with me until you choose one, if that’s alright?”

“That’s wonderful,” Jemma says. “I think I’d be lonely on my own, anyway.” Daisy grins.

“Well, come on in, then,” she says, opening the door and gesturing Jemma through.

“It’s not locked?” Jemma asks as she steps inside the house.

“Of course not,” Daisy says, following her in. “None of the buildings here have locks. People have put their own on their houses, but that’s more a comfort thing than a security thing. We haven’t had any issues with crime, and even if we did, the public buildings are staying unlocked. There aren’t going to be any secrets here.” She flicks on the light, and Jemma looks around instead of responding.

The space is small and simple, but there are a few touches that make it distinctly _Daisy’s_. The walls are painted a soft, pale yellow. The kitchen table is covered in random papers and drawings, and a stack of books sits at one end. A laptop sits beside it.

“You kept the hula girl,” Jemma says when it catches her eye from the windowsill. Daisy smiles shyly, almost embarrassedly.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, stepping forward and tapping it, starting it bobbling back and forth on its stand. “S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t my home anymore, but you and the rest of the team are still my family, even if we’re kind of dysfunctional right now.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jemma murmurs.

“I know,” Daisy says, lowering her hand and clenching it into a fist at her side. “I know that’s my fault, but this is what I had to do.” She turns to face Jemma, suddenly desperate. “You understand, right?”

“I understand,” Jemma says immediately, stepping forward and reaching out. She runs her fingertips over the back of Daisy’s hand, coaxing her fingers out of a fist and lacing hers through them. “It’s not your fault, Daisy. It’s all messed up now. You’re just doing what you can to make it better.”

“You don’t blame me?”

“Of course not.” For a moment, Jemma swears she sees Daisy’s eyes flick down to her lips, and every cell in her body starts to buzz with nervous energy. Then Daisy steps away, pulling their hands apart.

“Come on,” she says. “My room is upstairs.” Jemma follows her and does her best to not look disappointed. “You can take my room,” Daisy says as they climb the stairs. “I’ll take the couch.” Jemma begins to speak up. “No arguing,” Daisy cuts her off before she can even begin. “I lived in a van for years. I’ve slept on worse. Besides, you’ve had a long day.” Well, she’s not wrong about that. Jemma can’t believe she woke up in a motel in Amado, Arizona this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago, a world away.

“Take whatever clothes you want,” Daisy tells her, gesturing at the dresser. “There’s extra toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom. Sleep well, alright?”

“Alright,” Jemma murmurs. She’s exhausted suddenly. This day has turned into an eternity. “Thank you, Daisy.”

“Don’t thank me,” Daisy says with a shrug. “You came. I should be thanking you.” Jemma smiles, barely stopping herself before _as if I could ever stay away from you_ comes tumbling out of her mouth.

“Thank you,” she repeats firmly. Daisy smiles. She hesitates for a moment before she steps forward and wraps her arms around Jemma tightly. Jemma returns the embrace without a moment’s hesitation. She feels safe in Daisy’s arms; she always has.

“Okay,” Daisy says when she finally pulls back. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

“Okay,” Jemma says, and clamps her jaw shut before she accidentally says _I love you_.

 

XxX

 

It doesn’t take long for Rebirth to start feeling like a home. Jemma starts working in the lab, and she meets the couple that helped create it. Their names are Rebecca and Austin, and they’re from Washington. They’re kind, and incredible scientists, and best of all, they let Jemma run the lab. She isn’t sure if it’s on Daisy’s orders, but they let her give the orders, and the lab becomes _hers_. She had never envisioned herself in any kind of position of authority, but it comes surprisingly easy to her.

Jemma starts on the task Daisy had assigned her almost immediately: she begins studying Inhumans. She starts with Thomas, who demonstrates his powers for her with a proud grin. He makes a test tube disappear into thin air, and Jemma can pass her hand through the space where it was. He pulls it back out effortlessly, and Jemma is _fascinated_.

When she fixates on a project, Jemma tends not to notice time passing. Daisy used to come down to the lab on the Bus at two or three in the morning to remind her to eat dinner. Fitz had the same issue to a lesser extent, and would set timers on his phone to tell them when to go to bed. Here, at Rebirth, Jemma is _surrounded_ by scientific impossibilities. It only makes sense that she would lose track of time.

Four months pass in a whirlwind. Jemma works in the lab and Daisy works in her office, and they go out to dinner most nights, and they come home to each other. Jemma getting her own place never seems to come up again. They trade off nights on the couch, although Daisy always seems to end up taking more of them no matter how much Jemma argues.

Jemma thinks about S.H.I.E.L.D. every day. She wonders how Coulson and May are doing, if they’ve finally stopped dancing around each other like idiots. She wonders where Mack is now. She thinks about Trip occasionally. He would’ve loved Rebirth. He would’ve loved it _so much_. She even thinks about Roberts, wonders if he’s still at S.H.I.E.L.D. The team Daisy had sent for him had come back alone. Apparently, when they had found Roberts, he had refused, said he didn’t want to go with them.

(Jemma does her absolute best to avoid thinking about Schmidt, but when he crosses her mind, she hopes he’s burning in hell.)

And, of course, she thinks about Fitz.

She just hopes he’s happy, wherever he is now. She hopes her leaving doesn’t hurt him anymore.

Two days before Christmas, Jemma brings lunch to Daisy at her office. There’s an incredible Japanese food stand in the square, and while they don’t have plans, it’s almost Christmas, and Jemma wants to do something nice. So she picks up sushi for Daisy and ramen for herself and carries the styrofoam containers into the office building. The two desks in the first room are occupied now, and Jemma smiles at their occupants as she passes. They’ve become very familiar with each other, what with Jemma visiting most days.

Daisy’s office is shuttered as usual. Jemma opens the door without knocking, as usual. Someone else is in the chair across from Daisy, which isn’t entirely _unusual_ , but when the man turns around, Jemma nearly drops the containers.

It’s _Roberts_.

“Jemma,” Daisy says. “I was going to call you.”

“I would hope so,” Jemma says, staring at Roberts in confusion. “I thought you said no.”

“I did,” Roberts says. “I had to leave. Mace isn’t in charge anymore. The new director has been testing all the agents for the Inhuman gene.” Jemma closes her eyes briefly in anger and frustration.

“Of course they have,” she mutters. “Well, I’m glad you made it.”

“Speaking of which,” Daisy interjects. “I gotta go find a place for you to stay. This shouldn’t take long. Neither of you go anywhere, alright?” Jemma nods in agreement, and Daisy leaves the room. Roberts looks over at her, his gaze as piercing and thoughtful as always.

“I see that running away worked out for you,” he remarks. The words aren’t as cutting as they could be. His tone is soft, kind. Jemma doesn’t quite understand what he means, though, and he picks up on it. “You and Daisy,” he elaborates. “The moment you walked in here? It’s like sitting in an emotional furnace.”

“There isn’t a me and Daisy,” Jemma corrects. “Not like that.” Roberts frowns at her.

“Whatever you’re waiting for?” he says. “Stop waiting. You two are lucky, that you have each other, in this place where nothing can hurt you. Don’t waste the time you have.” Jemma nods slowly, absorbing his words.

“May I ask you something?” she says, changing the subject. Roberts nods. “Why didn’t you come the first time Daisy sent a team after you?” Roberts sighs slowly.

“My father grew up on a reservation,” he says quietly. “I didn’t, but we would visit every year when I was a child. When I heard about this place…it sounded too much like the reservation. I did not want to be forced to come here. I chose to stay and fight for my place in the world outside.” He smiles bitterly. “Futilely, apparently.”

“Futile or not,” Jemma says. “It was brave.” Roberts says nothing, but the smile on his face becomes a bit more sincere.

“Hey guys,” Daisy says as she opens the door behind them. “Roberts, I found a place for you.” She hands him a map with a star on it, marking the location of his new home. “You want help finding it?” Roberts takes the map and stands. He glances between Daisy and Jemma.

“I will find it myself,” he says. “Thank you.” With that, he walks out the door of the office, closing it behind him. Jemma and Daisy look at each other, and Jemma lifts the takeout containers with a smile. Daisy grins at her and steps forward to take the boxes, and suddenly, Jemma doesn’t know why she’s waiting.

She leans forward and kisses Daisy. It’s perfect; it’s everything it had been in that apartment back in LA, but with none of the pain or fear or emptiness.

“Jemma?” Daisy says, and Jemma shakes her head, pulling herself out of her daydreams. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jemma says, clearing her throat. Daisy doesn’t look like she believes her, but she lets it go. “Lunch?” Jemma asks, changing the subject. Daisy grins and takes the sushi container from her. Jemma doesn’t kiss her, even when Daisy hugs her tightly before Jemma returns to the lab. She doesn’t kiss her, even though that’s all she wants to do.

Roberts gets a job in a bakery. Jemma drops by for breakfast once a week or so. As it turns out, Roberts makes _excellent_ croissants. The lines of stress on his face begin to relax, day by day, until he’s greeting Jemma with a wide smile. Jemma is beginning to understand just what Rebirth means to many of its inhabitants: safety, an end to terror, to living in fear for their lives. A place to rest. A place to be happy and free.

_A home_.

Christmas and the new year come and go. Jemma is still in Daisy’s house, but it’s more _their_ house now. Jemma’s sweaters are folded in the dresser, and her shirts are hanging in the closet. Jemma figures out that Thomas is somehow moving objects between dimensions, between alternate universes of a sort, that Erica, the girl from the garden, is capable of concentrating sunlight and stimulating plant growth, essentially forcing the plants to grow and feeding them the energy they need to do so. She discovers a lot of things about many of the Inhumans, but she cannot figure out the _how_ or _why_ of any of it. That would’ve driven the old Jemma utterly insane, but something about Rebirth makes her feel relaxed, calm. Like she has all the time in the world to figure this out. It appears to have that effect on everyone there. Time passes quietly, it seems, when they’re no longer running and fighting for their lives.

Jemma wakes up on a Tuesday like any other. She’s leaving the lab to Austin and Rebecca today; she and Daisy have other work to do. A sixteen-year-old boy who came to Rebirth with his mother had chosen to go through the Mist, and it had left him rather sensitive to sunlight. They had built an underground apartment of sorts for him as quickly as they could manage, and it had given Daisy some interesting ideas. Now, they’re building a whole system of tunnels and rooms beneath the streets of Rebirth. It’s just a precaution, just in case they’re ever somehow found, to give them a place to run to.

“We need a ventilation system,” Jemma says as they walk through the tunnels, reiterating a point she’s made at least ten times over the past two weeks of construction.

“I know,” Daisy says, for at least the tenth time. “But it has to be secure. Literally every spy movie ever made involves someone crawling through air vents.” Jemma sighs heavily, pushing her hair back irritatedly.

“Fitz would know what to do,” she mutters without really thinking about it. Daisy doesn’t respond. Jemma glances over at her and notices the way her face has closed off, become tense and shuttered. “Daisy?” she says. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Daisy says. There’s a moment of quiet, and then— “Do you miss him?”

“Fitz?” Jemma thinks about it for a moment. “I suppose so. It’s not…I miss how it was when things were good. By the time I left, everything had been awful for a while. But he was my best friend for years, you know? I think it would be impossible to not miss him.” It’s perhaps more candid than she needs to be, but she’s fallen out of the habit of lying. There’s nothing to lie about here, after all.

“I never should’ve asked you to come with me,” Daisy mutters, almost to herself.

“I’m glad you did,” Jemma says. “And I’m glad I came. This isn’t how I always wanted things, Daisy, but it’s how I want them to stay. I’m _happy_.” Daisy nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. Jemma turns to her, reaching out and turning Daisy’s face towards her with her fingertips. It’s the kind of casual contact that’s become natural to them over the past six months, the kind of touch that drives Jemma a little insane with the fact that it doesn’t really mean anything. “Daisy,” Jemma says softly, meeting her gaze steadily. “You’re doing the guilt thing again.” Daisy half-smiles.

“You know me too well,” she murmurs.

“No more guilt,” Jemma says insistently. “I _chose_ this, and I’m damn happy about it. So there is absolutely _nothing_ for you to be feeling guilty about, alright?”

“You miss Fitz,” Daisy says.

“I do,” Jemma agrees. “And you do, too. And you miss Mack, don’t you? And Coulson and May?” Daisy nods. “But you chose this over them, and so did I. I don’t regret it.” Daisy’s jaw unclenches beneath Jemma’s fingertips, and she smiles softly.

“I don’t, either,” she says quietly. Jemma smiles back, and the moment stretches. For a moment, Jemma swears Daisy is beginning to lean in. Then she pulls away, stepping back, and Jemma’s hand falls from her cheek. It’s the same thing that has happened with countless moments like this between them, and every time, it makes Jemma’s chest hurt.

“Stop doing that,” Jemma blurts.

“Doing what?” Daisy asks, shaking her head slightly.

“You kissed me,” Jemma says. She isn’t sure what’s different about today, about this moment as opposed to countless others, but whatever it is, it’s given her the courage to say the things she’s spent six months holding back. “You kissed me, and we haven’t talked about it, or even acknowledged that it happened, and every time it feels like something is about to happen between us you pull away. Just—stop pulling away, or stop letting things like this happen, because I can’t deal with just _hoping_.” Daisy stares at her, speechless. Jemma waits for a response, waits for _anything_ , but Daisy just stands there, silent, unmoving.

Jemma shakes her head and turns away, hurrying back up the tunnel. She swipes tears away angrily as she half-walks, half-runs away from Daisy.

Jemma ends up at the bakery, because she doesn’t want to go home, doesn’t want to go sit in Daisy’s room and stare at the walls of the house they share. She pushes through the door of the bakery with red eyes and shaking hands. Luckily, Roberts is working. He looks up from behind the counter, and his eyes fill with sympathy. Without a word, he steps out from behind the counter and turns the sign on the door to closed. He sits down across from Jemma, who isn’t crying anymore, but she still kind of wants to. He doesn’t ask what happened, but she can see the curiosity in his eyes.

“I finally confronted her,” Jemma says eventually.

“It didn’t go well,” Roberts says. It’s not a question. He sighs, shifting in his seat. He reaches out a hand, placing it over one of Jemma’s gently. “You two have a complicated past, from what I understand,” he says. “I don’t know most of it, and I do not pretend to understand everything between you. But I do know this.” He grips Jemma’s hand a bit tighter, and she lifts her eyes to meet his. “What I can feel in the air when I’m around you two is more real, more _permanent_ than anything else I’ve ever encountered. It stays in a place for hours after you’re there. When you bring Daisy here for breakfast, I can sense it all day. So whatever she did or said, whatever happened, it was not because she doesn’t love you. I can promise you that.” Jemma nods slowly, biting her lip. She turns her hand beneath Roberts’ so she can squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you,” she says. He smiles, and Jemma notices how remarkably at peace he looks. Back in that room in the S.H.I.E.L.D. base in LA, he had been tense all the time, guarding, listening, always searching for a threat, never wholly at rest. Now, he sits across from her, shoulders relaxed, back to the door, completely unarmed. _Happy_.

“Any time,” Roberts says. He stands. “Now, go. Talk to her. Figure this out.” Jemma leaves the bakery, her heart much lighter and her eyes dry.

Jemma goes home and sits in the room that she still thinks of as Daisy’s, even though it’s long since been both of theirs. She sits back against the headboard and stares at the ceiling and she kind of wants to call Fitz. Her phone won’t work across dimensions, of course, and even if it did, she’s sure Fitz wouldn’t want to talk to her. Not about Daisy. That’s what Jemma wants; she wants to call her best friend and ask for his advice. But he isn’t her best friend anymore, not the way he used to be, hasn’t been since they nearly died on the bottom of the ocean, and besides, it’s been months. He probably thinks she’s dead.

The door opens downstairs. Jemma doesn’t bother moving. She hears Daisy coming up the stairs, still doesn’t shift her gaze from the ceiling even as the bedroom door opens.

“Hey,” Daisy says from the doorway. Her voice is soft, hesitant, almost timid. “I, um, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Jemma asks, shaking her head slightly. “I ran away before you could say anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I still feel like I should apologize,” Daisy insists. “I should’ve said something. I was just…surprised, I guess. That you still felt that way about me.”

“What—“ Jemma shakes her head again, turning to face Daisy this time. “Are you _insane_? Of _course_ I do. I always will. But you kept pulling away.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage,” Daisy says. “You moved across the country for me, Jemma. You left everything. I didn’t want to—to use that. To use _you_.” Jemma shakes her head in awe. Can she not see that Jemma is the happiest she’s ever been? Can Daisy not tell that she’s spent months feeling guilty for offering Jemma a choice, when Jemma’s decision was easily the best of her _life_?

Jemma stands, covering the space between them in three steps. Daisy looks like she’s about to ask what Jemma is doing, so before she can, Jemma grabs her by the waist, pulling their bodies together and kissing her.

Daisy’s lips are warm and soft, and she tastes like strawberry chapstick instead of blood. There’s no ghosts hanging over them, no pain behind their eyes, no fear waiting outside the door. It’s just Daisy and Jemma, and it’s hard to keep kissing when both of them are smiling.

“Jemma,” Daisy says breathlessly when they part. “You…”

“You’re an idiot sometimes, you know,” Jemma says softly. Daisy smiles, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Jemma’s.

“That’s why I have you, right?” she asks. “To keep me on track.”

“That’s why you have me,” Jemma repeats, and kisses her again.

This time, when she pulls away, Jemma doesn’t wake up, and Daisy stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is complete, but odds are very good that i'll come back to it and write some fluffy future fic kinda thing. i don't think i'm done with this universe yet. i hope you guys liked it. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake, and my fic requests are always open. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


	4. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, i finally got around to writing an epilogue. this was always my plan for the epilogue, however, due to recent events on the show, i cut it a lot shorter than it was originally going to be. don't worry; all happiness and good gay feelings. enjoy.

“…while we’ve managed to observe the process of Terrigenesis within DNA molecules, we’ve yet to understand the actual mechanics of it. The new sections seem to appear out of nowhere, which is, of course, impossible, but—“ The door to the lecture hall opens, and Jemma glances up at it midsentence. Daisy steps in, grinning widely, and Jemma’s words falter. She clears her throat. “Um, but we’ve been unable to find their source. As you can see in this diagram—“ She clicks her powerpoint to the next slide. Daisy sits down in the back row, putting her feet up on the back of the empty chair in front of her. Jemma stares at her for a moment. Her students begin to murmur, a few glancing over their shoulders to see what has her distracted. Jemma coughs, and they turn back to face her. “As you can see in this diagram, the macromolecules drastically alter the individual’s DNA, and while we haven’t mapped the Inhuman genome due to—“ Daisy is holding a white plastic bag, Jemma notices, one full of styrofoam containers.

_Oh my God, she brought_ food.

“Um, we’ll pick this up again on Monday,” Jemma says, suddenly realizing that she hasn’t spoken in a good fifteen seconds. “No homework this weekend, everyone, but since I know none of you bothered to read the section we just discussed, if you read it by Monday and write me a paragraph summarizing the genetic effects of Terrigenesis, I’ll give you five points extra credit. Class dismissed.” The class, about twenty or so students, begins to rapidly pack up their things and head for the door. Daisy waits in the back row with her feet up as they file out, nodding at a few in greeting.

Finally, the last student leaves the room, winking cheekily at Daisy as he goes. Daisy gets to her feet, walking down the rows of seats with the plastic bag in one hand and a bouquet of daisies in the other.

“Subtle,” Jemma comments, leaning against the side of her desk and gesturing at the flowers as Daisy walks up to her. Daisy just grins in response, setting the bag of takeout on Jemma’s desk and setting her now free hand on Jemma’s waist to pull her in for a kiss, slow and gentle.

“Happy anniversary,” Daisy murmurs when she pulls away. Jemma hums, catching Daisy’s hips in her hands and pulling her back in for another kiss.

“Happy anniversary,” she says back when she finally lets Daisy go. “You brought me flowers.”

“And food.”

“And _food_ ,” Jemma agrees, turning to unwrap the takeout containers on her desk and sighing when the scent of pad thai wafts out. Daisy’s hand stays on her waist, and she steps up beside Jemma, picking up the vase on Jemma’s desk and taking out the flowers she had brought last week to replace them with the daisies. She lifts the takeout containers out of the bag and sets them on open spots on Jemma’s desk. Jemma stacks some papers, setting them aside to give them more room.

“Did you skip lunch again?” Daisy asks as they sit down on opposite sides of the desk.

“No,” Jemma says.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Jemma rolls her eyes.

“Erica had to take a test,” she says. “She missed the class she was supposed to take it during because they needed her in the garden.” Daisy opens her own container and hands Jemma a plastic fork.

“She’s overworking herself,” Daisy comments. “She can’t support the entire town on her own.”

“It’s going to catch up with her eventually,” Jemma agrees. “If I could just replicate her power—“

“Jemma,” Daisy interrupts. “You know I love it when you talk science, but you’re supposed to be relaxing right now.”

“Am I?” Jemma asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Daisy says, nodding authoritatively. “It’s our anniversary. Relax and talk to your beautiful wife about something that doesn’t stress us both out.” Jemma smiles, reaching out with her free hand and taking Daisy’s.

“My beautiful wife,” she repeats. Daisy blushes slightly, even though she said the words first. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Daisy says, lacing their fingers together and smiling. “So, other than Erica, how was class today?” Jemma launches into a story about her introductory biology class that morning while Daisy listens attentively, like Jemma’s teaching is the most interesting thing she’s ever heard.

“So I got you a present,” Daisy says, when they’re picking up their empty containers and getting ready to head to the main square. The high school band is playing tonight, and while Jemma doesn’t have particularly high hopes for their musical ability, she and Daisy have made a habit of going to most public functions. While Daisy has insisted on holding elections for the position of mayor of Rebirth every three years, she’s won almost unanimously both times, and since Jemma is her wife, it’s kind of their responsibility to show support. Besides, Jemma likes the high schoolers, if not their musical ability, and many of them will be her students eventually.

“We said no gifts,” Jemma chastises, taking the hand that Daisy holds out to her as they walk up the stairs towards the door out of the classroom.

“We did,” Daisy agrees. “But I think you’ll like this one. It’ll get here tomorrow.” Jemma frowns. It’s not as if Daisy could’ve ordered something to be delivered to a town that technically doesn’t exist. She could’ve used one of the post office boxes they’ve set up in Roswell for residents to order things to, true, but the waiting list to order nonessential items is months long, and Daisy would never prioritize herself above all the people waiting to use the mailboxes, even for Jemma. “What’s that look for?” Daisy asks, nudging Jemma out of her thoughts.

“You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” Jemma asks. Daisy grins at her.

“Nope.” Jemma smiles and shakes her head affectionately.

“I love you,” she says, lifting their joined hands so she can kiss the back of Daisy’s.

“Love you, too,” Daisy murmurs, smiling at her. They step into the square, which is already milling with people, mostly proudly smiling parents and reluctant siblings of the band members. A few of them wave to Daisy and Jemma, who smile and wave back before they find their seats amidst the metal folding chairs set out in neat rows in the square.

“Front row,” Jemma says, quietly enough that only Daisy can hear her. “Lucky us.”

“Don’t be mean,” Daisy says back, just as quietly. They sit, holding hands between their chairs. “They’re doing their best. Not everyone can be naturally talented at everything like you.”

“You’ve heard me play the violin,” Jemma says. “I wouldn’t call that natural talent.” Daisy snorts. That particular adventure had been the result of the two of them getting drunk in one of the Carter College music rooms the night the school had officially been opened. Jemma had decided to regale Daisy with the story of her brief and highly unfortunate journey into primary school orchestra. Daisy had then insisted on a demonstration.

It had not gone well.

“It was natural _something_ ,” Daisy says. On stage, the high school band teacher starts talking into a microphone, and the crowd in the square quiets down. He gives some long, sappy speech about how proud he is of his students, and Jemma _understands_ , she really does, she’s a teacher and she’s _unbelievably_ proud of her students, but for God’s sake, the band really is _terrible_.

“Happy anniversary,” Daisy says again as they walk home through the streets. The streetlights are off today, and other than the occasional light on in a house, the streets are lit by the thousands of brilliant stars above them. Jemma can see the orange glow from Roswell’s lights on the horizon. The night is cold in the way that Jemma has gotten used to over the past six years in Rebirth; the air is cold and flat, motionless. “I’m sorry I had to work today.”

“Daisy,” Jemma says, rolling her eyes.

“I know, I know,” Daisy says. “You said no apologizing. When have I ever listened to you?”

“You should do it more often,” Jemma grumbles, making Daisy laugh.

“Seriously, though,” Daisy says as she opens the door of their house for Jemma. “I love you, and I…I’m just really glad you’re here. I’m really glad I married you.” She closes the door. Jemma turns to face her, stepping closer, backing Daisy up against the door.

“I love you,” she murmurs, using the lapels of Daisy’s jacket to pull her into a kiss. It’s the leather jacket Daisy had stolen when she was on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. all those years ago. By all rights, Jemma should associate it with the fear and worry and hurt that dominated those months of only seeing Daisy through grainy video feeds, but at this point, all the darkness that used to permeate their lives seems like more of a distant, greyscale memory than anything. Like it was a terrible dream that seemed to go on forever, until Jemma woke up in this life, the life she was supposed to have.

 

XxX

 

“You ready?” Daisy asks. Jemma rolls her eyes at her wife, who is standing by the door to their house, one hand on the doorknob in a rather overblown, dramatic pose.

“I’m ready,” Jemma says. Daisy grins.

“No, you’re not,” she says, and opens the door.

“Oh,” Jemma says after a long moment of quiet. Daisy half-smiles, seeming mildly concerned but unsurprised at Jemma’s speechlessness. It’s a good thing she made Jemma sit down. Jemma is pretty sure she’d be falling over right now.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she says, stepping through the now-open door. “I love you, Jemma.” Jemma stares at Daisy’s gift, openmouthed, for another long moment before she finally speaks.

“Um, sit down,” she says, gesturing at the chair across from her. Fitz steps forward from where he’s awkwardly standing just over the threshold, but Jemma is jumping up and throwing her arms around him before he gets more than a foot closer to the chair.

“Whoa,” he murmurs, hugging her back. “Hey, Jemma.” Jemma doesn’t say anything. She isn’t sure she could if she tried. Fitz looks almost the same as he used to; a little bit older, and clean-shaven again now, but he’s wearing a collared shirt and a sweater and the same aftershave he’s been using since their days at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy and Jemma didn’t realize just how much she’s missed him until right now.

They stand like that for awhile, wrapped around each other. Jemma isn’t crying, but she feels like she might. Her throat is tight, her stomach twisted up with joy and guilt and fear because what if this isn’t real, what if she wakes up and Fitz _isn’t here_ , was never here at all?

Eventually, though, she steps back, eyes flicking over Fitz like she’s trying to memorize him, and maybe she is. It’s been six years, and he’s _here_. He looks more different now than she first thought, now that she’s looking at him; his eyes have the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners, and there’s a few strands of gray in his hair, but most noticeably, he looks less angry. He used to always have shadows in his eyes, but they’re gone now. He looks tired, but the darkness in him is gone.

“You’re here,” Jemma says, for the lack of anything else to say. Fitz smiles.

“I’m here,” he agrees. “Been awhile, right?” It’s such a _Fitz_ thing to say that the tears that have been waiting in Jemma’s eyes come rushing forward, dripping down her cheeks as she smiles so widely her cheeks hurt. “Don’t _cry_ ,” Fitz says. “I’ll cry if you do, damn it.” And he’s right: he’s crying, too.

It’s a long few minutes before either of them can manage a coherent sentence, or even real words. Somewhere in the middle of it, they both sit at the table, still crying.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma says eventually, when she feels like she can breathe again. “For leaving and—and not saying anything.” Fitz shakes his head emphatically.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You did what you had to do.” Jemma half-frowns in confusion.

“You’re not mad?” she asks. Fitz leans back in his chair and takes a long, slow, unsteady breath.

“I was,” he says. “I was mad for awhile. And then I thought you were dead, and I couldn’t be angry anymore.” Jemma swallows hard. “And then all the Inhumans on the S.H.I.E.L.D. registry started disappearing, and I figured you and Daisy must have something to do with it.” He gestures out the kitchen window at the sunlit street. “I didn’t imagine this, though.” Jemma smiles, just a bit.

“No one does until they get here,” she says, her voice hoarse. “It wasn’t me, though. Rebirth, all of it, that was Daisy.”

“Not the way she tells it.” Jemma shakes her head, smiling affectionately.

“She’s too humble for her own good.”

“So are you,” Fitz says. “Daisy told me about the college. That’s not small, Jemma. That’s _amazing_.” Jemma shrugs.

“We needed one,” she says, and that’s really all there is to it. They couldn’t exactly send their residents out into the human world for an education, not when Inhuman testing was getting stricter by the day and most of their college-age residents didn’t even _want_ to leave the town. They had needed a college.

So Jemma had created one.

“Well, _I_ think it’s pretty damn incredible,” Fitz says. “So you’re just going to have to deal with that.” Jemma smiles, because it’s exactly the sort of thing that she’s imagined Fitz saying over the past six years, but it also makes her chest get tight, because it’s exactly the sort of thing Fitz would’ve said when they were dating.

“Daisy and I are married, you know,” Jemma says, and okay, maybe it isn’t the most _subtle_ way to respond to his comment, but damn it, Jemma is _emotional_.

“I heard,” Fitz says. “You didn't invite me to the wedding.”

“You thought I was dead.” Fitz nods thoughtfully.

“That’s a fair point,” he says. “Besides, the wedding invitation might’ve been a tad suspicious, coming from a town that doesn’t exist.”

“As well as being to a wedding between a missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and a domestic terrorist.”

“International, actually,” Fitz corrects. “They blamed Daisy for an earthquake in Canada three years ago.”

“ _Canada_?” Jemma repeats. “We haven’t been further than Roswell since I got here.”

“Doesn’t really matter to the bigoted fucks in the government,” Fitz says. Jemma hums in agreement, and Fitz’s eyes turns serious. “I’m happy for you,” he tells her sincerely. “You and Daisy, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “If I’m being honest with myself, it’s not that surprising. I knew you wanted more than me.” Jemma bites her lip, gazing at him sympathetically. “It’s okay,” he tells her with a smile. “It worked out for you.”

“And you?” Jemma asks. “Is it working out for you?” Fitz hesitates.

“I think so,” he says eventually. “I think it is.” He doesn’t elaborate on the statement, but the way one corner of his mouth tugs upward and his gaze turns distant tell Jemma everything she needs to know.

“Come on,” Jemma says, suddenly standing. “You need to see the town. There’s someone I want you to meet.” There’s probably a hundred people Jemma would like Fitz to meet, but one of those people takes precedence over the rest, and Jemma just so happens to know that it was said person’s day to make croissants.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Fitz moans through a mouthful of bread fifteen minutes later, leaning back in his chair. Jemma smiles, catching Roberts’ eye over the counter and nodding at Fitz. Roberts glances at him and laughs quietly before heading back into the kitchen.

“I know,” Jemma agrees. “I swear pastry is Roberts’ Inhuman power.”

“What _is_ his power?” Fitz asks, taking another bite of his croissant. Jemma hesitates, and Fitz picks up on it. “Is that not okay to ask?” he questions. “I didn't mean—“

“No,” Jemma interrupts. “No, it’s fine, it’s fine to ask that. His power is…complicated.” Fitz gives her a look, and Jemma suddenly remembers that this is _Fitz_ , and he’ll be able to follow anything she says. “Well, he can sense emotions, sort of.”

“Like telepathy?” Fitz asks.

“Not really,” Jemma says. “He can tell what you’re feeling, but not thinking.”

“Is that why you wanted me to meet him?” Fitz asks quietly. “So he could tell you what I’m feeling?” Jemma winces slightly. “You could’ve just asked,” he tells her, setting his croissant back on his plate and meeting her eyes.

“What are you feeling?” Jemma asks him. Fitz takes a moment, picking at his fingernails absently as he thinks.

“Overwhelmed,” he says eventually. “All this…” He waves a hand vaguely at the street outside the bakery window. “It’s a bit much. But mostly, I’m just damn glad to have my best friend back. I missed you like hell.” Jemma smiles, reaching across the table to rest her hand on one of his.

“I missed you, too,” she says, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go. Fitz smiles at her, and they eat in silence for a few moments before he speaks again.

“You know I can’t stay,” he tells her. Jemma closes her eyes and exhales, long and slow. “This place is incredible, but—it’s not mine. I don’t belong here.”

“Everyone belongs here,” Jemma says, and it’s not _desperate_ , not really, but it’s sad and resigned and pleading all the same. Fitz shakes his head and smiles sadly.

“I don’t,” he repeats. “I wouldn’t be able to settle. You know that.” Jemma nods. She _does_ know. Living here would make Fitz crazy; it was her that pushed them into leaving the lab and going into the field all those years ago, but it was him who truly wanted it. He never would’ve tried to make her leave the lab, but she could see it, how working in the same place on the same problems every day drove him insane, so she had taken the matter into her own hands.

“I know,” Jemma agrees. “But you can stay for awhile, right?”

“Of course,” Fitz says. “I can stay for awhile.”

 

XxX

 

“You alright?” Daisy says, leaning against the doorframe. Jemma looks up from the book that she’s staring blankly at and smiles weakly at her wife. She closes the book, setting it on her nightstand.

“I’m fine,” she says. “It was strange, seeing Fitz again. He’s…different, now. Less…” She doesn’t finish the thought. Daisy straightens, walking into the room and sliding beneath the blankets on her side of the bed, making a _come here_ gesture at Jemma. Jemma complies immediately, tucking into Daisy’s side and slipping an arm around her waist.

“Less haunted,” Daisy says quietly after a moment, and Jemma takes a moment to recall what they were discussing, since she’s already nodding off from the late hour, the emotional exhaustion of Fitz’s departure earlier that day, and the closeness to Daisy.

“Exactly,” she agrees, voice muffled against Daisy’s neck. “Less haunted.” They lie there in silence for a few moments. “I think leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. was good for him. Even if I don’t understand the appeal of MI6.” Daisy hums thoughtfully, tracing Jemma’s spine with her fingertips.

“Well, they’re definitely less radical than S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she says. “And it sounds like his work involves a lot less morally questionable science and a lot more designing smaller and smaller cameras.” Jemma smiles and kisses the side of Daisy’s neck gently, almost chastely.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I know I’ve already said that, but…thank you.” She lifts herself up just enough to look Daisy in the eye. “For bringing him here, for—all of it.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Jemma,” Daisy says.

“No,” Jemma says. “I really, really do.” She leans in and kisses Daisy gently. Daisy smiles at her when she pulls away.

“Go to sleep,” she murmurs. “You’ve got an eight A.M. class tomorrow.” Jemma groans at the reminder.

“You’d think I’d have learned my lesson back at the Academy,” she grumbles, making Daisy laugh. Jemma feels the vibrations of the sound in her throat.

“Go to _sleep_ ,” Daisy repeats, stretching an arm out and clicking the lamp beside the bed off. The room goes dark. They both shift around a bit, getting comfortable.

“Daisy?” Jemma whispers after a few minutes. Daisy’s eyes open. “I love you.” Daisy turns her head to look at Jemma, and the starlight through the window is just bright enough to make her eyes gleam.

“I love you, too,” she whispers back, kissing Jemma’s forehead. Jemma smiles, curling her fingers in the hem of Daisy’s pajama shirt and closing her eyes.

Outside, a few teenagers wander through the moonlit streets of Rebirth. A boy with milk-white skin has his hand out, making the fireflies swirl in complex patterns above him, trying to impress the twin girls walking with him, who both have metallic, silver eyes. None of them are hiding. None of them are scared.

Inside, Jemma and Daisy sleep soundly, and the only thing either of them dreads is the alarm clock going off in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya go. while fitz visiting was always the plan for this, after hearing about what's been happening on the show (i haven't watched since ep 99 oops), i skipped all the fitzsimmons brotp stuff i had planned. i miss seasons one/two fitz guys. just assume from now on that any fic i write involving him is him from season one. anyways. i hope you enjoyed my rambling and my badly cobbled together timeline that was probably not clear at all. i'd probably be down to write more stuff in this 'verse if anyone has any requests :) i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake, and my fic requests are always open. come ask for a fic or talk to me about any of my fics/the show, although i'm not caught up and probably won't be for awhile what with all the sadness and heterosexuality happening at the moment. leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed! check out my other skimmons fics as well!


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